Lady Penelope's Christmas Charade, a Regency Romance

by Lilia Birney

  The carriage slowed. He pulled the curtains aside. They were in Leicester to change horses and afford Penelope the opportunity to buy a new gown or two. She sat up, pushing away from him, as the swaying motion of the carriage stilled. Her face flushed a bright pink, and her lips looked swollen from his kisses.

  “Oh, botheration. Here we are, and I haven’t done my hair,” she exclaimed crossly. She rolled her magnificent tresses into a rope and looped it over her head, sticking pins every which way. “No telling what people will think of me when they see me.”

  “Does it matter what other people think?” It was the answer he sought. How much did she care for other’s opinions? Was that what held her back from him? That she didn’t think he was a true gentleman?

  “Yes.” She pulled on her bonnet and tied the strings. Without another word, and without deigning to wait for the coachman, she alit from the carriage.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Penelope could not rid herself of Pierce’s touch. His warm hands still caressed her head, his lips still hovered over hers, asking questions that she could not answer. She was shaken to her very core. No man had ever made love to her in such a fashion before, and it addled her. She had been so determined to set up a firm boundary between them, and he had simply jumped over the line again and again.

  How could she be so stupid? She had gone and fallen in love with a thief-taker, a rapscallion. He was used to telling lies to get his way in his profession. He was used to skirting the truth to seek his own end. And so it ever would be.

  She burst through the first shop door she saw, nodding a perfunctory greeting to the shopkeeper. She still had one night with Pierce before they reached Dunstable. After that, assuming they found Cicely, she would room with her maid on the journey home. And once Cicely was found, she had no need to ever meet with Pierce again. He would go his way, and she would go hers.

  She paused, trying to get her bearings. She was in a dry goods store of some sort, with bolts of fabric and barrels of flour and beans. In a lonely, dusty corner, one limp gown hung on a cheap wire rod. It was modest, but heavens above, was it ever ugly. It was fashioned in dark yellow worsted wool, patterned over with brown checks. She had never owned such an ugly garment in her life. But it was the best she could hope for in her current situation, and the only way she could cover herself amply in Pierce’s presence. In fact, that dress was likely to stave off any more amorous advances from Pierce altogether, and in that sense, it was perfect.

  “May I help you, ma’am?” The shopkeeper scurried to her side, smiling widely.

  “That dress there—I’ll take it.” Penelope pointed it out with a languid hand.

  The shopkeeper’s brows drew together. “Are you sure?”

  “Quite,” she replied, with a haughty hitch of her chin.

  He nodded and lifted the gown off the rod with a long pole. “I’ll have it at the counter for you. Anything else, ma’am?”

  “Some raspberry sweets, if you please.” She needed something—anything—to take the taste of Pierce away.

  The shopkeeper nodded and bundled everything together in a neat parcel. She paid him out of the bills she kept stashed in her reticule—the money she was never without thanks to Peter. As always, it gave her an enormous rush of pride to pay for her own purchases.

  There was now nothing to do except rejoin her traveling party, but she was in no mood to see Pierce again so soon. Opening the parcel, she sought a raspberry sweet and began crunching on it violently. Usually she loved to let them dissolve on her tongue, savoring the flavor, but such sensual pleasures were now out of the question. She wanted quick relief from his lingering and pervasive presence.

  He was gone. There was no sign of him out in front of the row of shops, so he must have gone in somewhere. The horses were gone, so likely he was assisting in the livery stable. No matter where he had gone, she had a few moments of blessed relief from his confusing and intoxicating presence. Time to sort matters out alone.

  She hefted the parcel onto her hip. Perhaps there was someplace nearby where she could change. No…better to stay in the gown she had on, and wait to change until tomorrow. This dress was modest enough and any change in her appearance might elicit some kind of notice from Pierce. And she was in no mood to be noticed by him. Not any longer. Not until she could figure out her own feelings in the matter.

  She stumbled over a rock in her path, and a hand shot out and caught her. Gasping, she pulled herself upright. “Thank you,” she murmured to the gray-haired man who had broken her fall. “I must be more careful in future.”

  “You should,” he agreed.

  She stopped in her tracks. Well, that was bloody cheeky. She half-turned, gazing over her shoulder. “That’s not a terribly polite thing to say.”

  “It’s more of a warning than a polite observation.” He pushed away from the light post he had been leaning against, and offered his gloved hand. “My name’s Jonathan Twist. And I am a thief-taker, just like your beau.”

  Something about him wasn’t right. She swallowed the nervous bile rising in her throat. What was he doing here, in Leicester? And how did she know about Pierce? “My beau? I am not sure I take your meaning, Mr. Twist.”

  He grinned broadly. “You are a bonny lass, even with that dyed hair. And a mighty stout spirit, for one of the gentry. I’ve been tracking the pair of you for weeks. At first I was trying to get at Lord Howland, but now I feel called upon to give you a fair warning.”

  Her knees were trembling so she was certain he could hear them knocking together. “Lord Howland? I don’t understand. Pierce Howe has been my traveling companion on this journey. And I’m not gentry either.”

  He shook his graying head and gave her a look of genuine regret. “Sure, and you are Lady Annand, the Viscount Annand’s widow. And you’ve cast yer lot in with Lord Pierce Howland. He changed his name when he started his work, but it’s him all right. Ask him. He’ll deny it, but he’s the first son. When his father murdered his mother, and the family name went to pot, Pierce struck out for himself. He’s got a mighty good career going, I must say.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Penelope’s stomach churned. Pierce had been concealing the truth from her all along. He was no mere working man. He was gentry too, and he affected this façade to put people off the scent. Everyone including lonely young widows, ripe for seduction. Her cheeks burned at the memory of what a fool she had been.

  He shrugged, his grizzled eyebrows drawing together. “I don’t know. I come to admire you, I guess. I’m leaving the business for good, and gave everything I got to the Runners. Pierce should do the same. Mebbe you could talk some sense into him. Get him to settle down. Become respectable and all that.”

  Respectable? Her relationship with Pierce was hardly respectable. It was heady and torrid and wrong—all wrong. She faced the thief-taker squarely. “I suppose I should thank you again, Mr. Twist.”

  “Think nothing of it.” He bowed. “I just don’t like to see a lady get taken for a fool, that’s all.” With that last parting shot, Mr. Twist strolled down the street, plain as day, as though he owned Leicester.

  As she watched his back, she shifted the parcel to her other hip. She had no idea what to say or to do with the information Mr. Twist had given her. But she was very, very glad she had guarded her heart. Now she could break things off with Pierce and call it all an affair. Had she allowed things to progress further, she’d have the embarrassment of getting over a love affair.

  And she was not in love with Pierce. No matter what happened. She would never allow her heart to rule her head.

  And that meant traveling the rest of this journey alone.

  Suddenly, her path was clear.

  ***

  Leicester was as good a place to stop as any. There was no need to change horses and then try to find an inn later on in the afternoon. They could stop in at the Leicester Arms and then leave early in the morning for Dunstable. It was as good a plan as any.


  Pierce chose one room for the two of them. After all, they still had to maintain the image of a gentleman and his doxie, just for one night more. After that, well, sharing a room anywhere was going to be difficult. Unless, of course, he came up with an alternative plan.

  After they found Cicely, which they certainly would within a day or so—his thief-taker instincts were running high, and he could practically see the young maid sitting in a tumbledown shack in Dunstable—then there would be no need to associate with Penelope any longer. Unless, of course, he took a dramatic course of action. Was he ready to beg Penelope’s hand in marriage? The few days’ abstinence told him that his interest in her was more than physical. And he had desired no one else since meeting her. So, as far as his own heart was concerned, he knew the truth. No other woman would ever do for him.

  But what of Penelope’s heart? She could marry where she chose. She had wealth and a place in society, and neither would be particularly compromised by a marriage to him. But on the other hand, her feelings in the matter were an enigma. Sometimes she was warm and generous and open. And other times, she was frigid and closed-off. And he never knew which to expect. He could discern those two opposing sides—fire and ice, desire and distance—warring within her on the carriage ride to Leicester. What was holding her back? Why would she not simply give in to the tenderness, the generosity, the openness he had come to worship within her?

  Damn Peter Annand. If he was here, Pierce would give him a bloody good thrashing for taking advantage of Penelope’s innocence so blatantly. And for messing up matters so royally for every man who came after him.

  Pierce quit the inn and went in search of Penelope. Likely she was still shopping and might even need assistance carrying her parcels. He would find her, and then take her back to their room at the Inn—and matters could sort themselves out. He would finally melt the Ice Goddess for good.

  “Hello, Pierce. Leicester’s a mighty fine place to holiday, ain’t it?” a familiar voice drawled.

  He halted in his tracks. “Twist,” he replied, his heart beginning to pound. What the devil was Twist doing here? Had he spotted Penelope? “To what do I owe the dubious pleasure?”

  “Been following you. Tracking you, really. Ever since I found out you were working on Lady Annand—and I do mean working on her—I decided to follow up.” He spat onto the street. “Mebbe if you weren’t so taken with the lady, you would have realized what was going on. Though your tracking instincts were never really that good, were they?”

  Pierce’s hands tightened into fists at his sides. “What do you know?”

  “Well, I know you took the lady to a notorious stag party in Derbyshire. And that you’re headed south to find her missing maid. I’ve been asking around, keeping my ear to the ground, that sort of thing. But it won’t do no good to hit me, Pierce. I’ll spill everything I know to the lady.”

  “You haven’t spoken to her?” Pierce’s heart hammered against his chest. Maybe there was time to remedy the situation after all.

  Twist grinned and shook his head. “Nary a word.”

  “What do you want, then?” He eyed the old codger cagily. He wasn’t just following them for his health, after all. There was a method behind this madness.

  “Listen. Just tell me all you know about the Gilded Lily,” Twist responded dryly. “It’s all I’ve been after, ever since we spoke in your office. Tell me what you’ve learned so I can turn it over to the Runners. And then your free. You can toss your ladyship as often as you wish. You won’t hear nothing from me.”

  Anger surged through Pierce. “Shut your bloody foul mouth,” he hissed. He would never stand for anyone saying things like that about Penelope.

  Twist spread his hands in mock supplication. “Sorry, didn’t mean to offend,” he mocked. “But if you don’t want me hanging about, why not give me what I ask for? Then I’ll leave you in peace. We’ll give everything we know to old Dick Ford and then we’ll have a nice retirement. I’ll marry Ruth and you can have Lady Annand. What d’ye say?”

  “I say go to hell.” Pierce chuckled. “Why would I give you anything I know?”

  “Professional courtesy,” Twist said with a laugh. “And if you don’t, I’ll tell Lady Annand everything I know about you, Lord Howland.”

  Damn it to hell. He would tell Penelope everything. If he were honest with her, there would be nothing left to hide—nothing to use as blackmail against him. So he would work with Twist this one time, and then he would tell Penelope everything. And that would pave the way for them to be together.

  “Fine,” he barked. “Lord Adam Cavendish owns the Barclay and has a stake in the Gilded Lily. He’s a silent partner, of course, but he’s the reason nothing is happening with it. He’s the opposition Ford is coming against in the House of Lords. Take out Cavendish, and Ford could close the place forever.”

  Twist let out a low whistle. “Good to know,” he responded. “Excellent work. I am sure that Dick Ford will be happy to hear this information, and grateful to you for securing it.”

  “Tell Dick Ford to go to hell, and you along with him.” Pierce shoved Twist aside and stalked down the sidewalk. Twist laughed after him.

  “Go on, then. Find your ladyship. Ye’ve earned it.”

  He had never given information like that away before. In earlier days he would have demanded a price. And he certainly never succumbed to blackmail. But now, matters were different. He wanted only one thing. Penelope. And if that meant giving away hard-earned information to shake Twist off their tail, then so be it.

  He shoved past the passersby on the sidewalk, not caring whom he bumped into. Penelope was surely in one of these shops. A sudden, irrational fear gripped his throat. She was here, wasn’t she? Every where he looked, he saw young ladies and maids, servants and young bucks, but no sign of Penelope’s proud posture or the queenly tilt of her head. Her dyed hair, even when glimpsed peeking out under a bonnet, would catch his eye if nothing else. But in shop after shop, he could not find her.

  She was gone. But where did she go?

  He hastened back to the Inn, but neither the innkeeper nor the barmaid had spotted Penelope. Sweat broke out in beads across his forehead. Had she been kidnapped? Had Twist gotten to her after all?

  Perhaps she was waiting at the livery barn with the carriage. That was the last sensible solution he had. Yes, that was it. She didn’t know that he planned to stay in Leicester, and had elected to wait by the carriage until his return.

  He skidded to a halt inside the barn. “You, boy,” he called to one of the stable lads. “Have you seen a young lady with red hair?”

  “Yes , sir.” The young boy ran forwards. “She hired a coach and left about half an hour ago.”

  Bloody hell. She had left without him.

  “Get me a horse, quick as you can,” he ordered the young boy. The lad doffed his cap and hurried back to the stalls.

  She was headed for Dunstable. That much was certain. But why did she leave without him?

  He would ride her down and get the answers he sought.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hot tears spilled over Penelope’s eyes, scorching a path down her cheeks. She swiped them away with an angry brush of her gloved hand. It was over. It was all over. Once she got to Dunstable, she would track Cicely down on her own and Pierce Howe, or Lord Pierce Howland, or whatever his blasted name was, could go hang himself. She was done with men and their lying, deceitful ways. She would go back to her London townhouse, shrug off this little affair, and go on being the Ice Goddess until she got so old that no one particularly cared what her melting point might be.

  The carriage bounced over a rock in the road, sending her careening against the side. Her head hit the wall with a smart crack. Well, it was her fault anyway. She had told the driver not to spare the whip, for she was in a terrible rush to reach Dunstable. She wedged herself more cozily into a corner of the cushions and braced her feet against the floor.

  She was furious with herself for
crying and bit the side of her cheek to make the tears stop flowing. It just wasn’t bloody fair, that was all. Pierce knew everything about her. He knew about her sham marriage to Peter. He knew her darkest sexual secrets and desires. And she knew nothing of him. She didn’t even really know his name. Just as Peter had concealed his true self from her for years of marriage, so Pierce had concealed himself from her in just the few weeks since they had started their affair.

  She would never, ever be so trusting again.

  Now she could only thank her lucky stars that she had struck out from Leicester so quickly. If Pierce even noticed she was gone, it would be hours before he thought to track her down. And by then she would be closing in on Dunstable, and tracking Cicely down. Likely she would leave Dunstable with Cicely in tow by the time he even thought to follow her—if he even decided to follow her. For heaven’s sake, she didn’t even know the man. ‘Twould be impossible indeed to pretend she knew his motives or actions at any given time.

  A commotion sounded outside—pounding hooves and shouting. Penelope’s heart leapt into her throat. Were they being beset by highwaymen? Surely not. They had nothing of value to steal, and no one knew she was really the wealthy Lady Annand. Well, not unless that strange man Twist had bandied her true identity about.

  The driver swore viciously and slowed the horses as the pounding of hooves grew louder and closer. Penelope flicked the curtain of the carriage window aside, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. If only she had a pistol or some means of defending herself. As it was, she only had a bundle of clothing and a tin of raspberry sweets with her inside the coach.

  The coach rumbled and lurched to a halt, as the driver unleashed a string of obscenities. A rider, his hair disheveled and his bay horse lathered, answered in kind. Drat it all, it was Pierce. She would recognize that blonde hair and those strong shoulders anywhere, at any time. What was he about anyway, stopping her carriage?